All pallid was his colour,
the seal of death he bore—
The ever-valiant Iring—
to them ’twas sorrow sore.
For Haward’s gallant liegeman
there was no hope of life:
And so the men of Denmark
must forward go to strife.
All pallid was his colour,
the seal of death he bore—
The ever-valiant Iring—
to them ’twas sorrow sore.
For Haward’s gallant liegeman
there was no hope of life:
And so the men of Denmark
must forward go to strife.